She was my first cat. There had been several family cats growing up (one of them more “mine” than the others), but she was the first I’d adopted as an adult. The first for whom I had full responsibility. My First Cat. She was almost twenty years old and I’d said that when she got to twenty, she would henceforth be known as The Venerable Smudge. Contrary to the end, she decided that venerable wasn’t her speed.
We let her go this afternoon. She’d had a good last month, after we got her on cortisone tablets to help counter whatever it was growing in her belly (I still maintain it was probably an over-inflamed spite gland), and she had a very good Last Day. There was a bit of medium-rare steak for dinner! There was sleeping in our bed overnight! There was fresh shower-water in the morning! But she was weak and wobbly and could barely stand or walk without falling over, and I decided to spare her the heat wave of the next few days which would likely have finished her anyway.
She was done, my cat.
I needed to let her go. I needed to help her go.
Sometimes, responsibility is the worst.
The vets were wonderful. They came to our home and she passed her last moments on the couch where she spent so much of her days and nights, with us by her side. She was tired and slightly dozy but still very much herself. It was the last thing I could do for her, and I’m deeply grateful to have been able to do it.
She had acquired many names over the years. Smudge, of course, and Smudgie, and even a handful of ostentatious extensions: Smudgie La Rue; Smudge-a-roonie of the Roonies; Smudge-a-rooster. She was Fluffbot and Black Cat and Tiny Cat. She was Honey Bear, with Bear for short or Bear-ba-loo for long, and she was most recently TBC — Total Best Cat. She was also, according to my beloved, the Varmint. And, damn it, she was The Venerable Smudge as well.
After we buried her in the garden, we walked around the side of the house and saw an unusual cloud formation above the garage. A couple of soft, blurry clouds, smudged around the edges. If I squint, I can almost imagine it’s a little white moustache floating up there in the sky.
Humans are funny creatures. We fall irrevocably in love with small furry animals and take solace in the random patterns of clouds when our hearts are breaking.
My first cat, now and always. My Smudge. I miss you so much.
Kirstyn McDermott 
Oh, Kirstyn. I am crying reading this. I remember Smudge so clearly and it was she who inspired me to adopt my own First Cat (who died by snake bite 2008). What a beautiful way to honour that strange little being who shared her life with you. I am sending you immense love and hugs. One day, at the rainbow bridge, you will see her again. Love always, Kim xxx
And when I do, she will most likely bite me. Varmint.
D’awww 😦
Deepest sympathies, Kirstyn. It’s 12 months since my venerable first cat left me and I still imaginary-hear her sometimes. Xx
Oh no, your deaf old cat has passed as well? Jason and I were sitting out on the patio last night eating dinner — BBQ’d steak — and I hear this distant plaintive yowling that sounded, almost, like Smudge. I actually looked at J and said, “Tell me you hear that.” He did, so either we’re both mad, or it was just some neighbourhood kitty. Still, a little weird.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Twenty years isn’t long enough, but it couldn’t be more venerable.
Thanks, Faith.
I will miss her too. Such a tiny little thing, so light compared to my obese lump of lard. So determined when searching for a lap or a sunspot.
I can only imagine how silent and still the house must seem today, even though she took up so little space. And wasn’t all that noisy.
Vale, dear Smudge.
Well she was pretty noisy at 6am a lot of the time! But yeah, a catless house is a very empty place. Not sure how long I’ll hold out against the inevitable kitten invasion.
6am not withstanding 😉